Bank Holiday Beach Blunders

When the heat wave came in June, everyone joked that we had seen the British summer in its entirety, and that Autumn would be commencing post-haste. Chortle chortle chortle.  In the depths of Cornwall, that sultry weekend of soaring mercury was followed by two months of low-lying cloud, mizzle, jumper-wearing and a complete loss of any weather-related sense of humour.  BUT, after an August that has barely seen temperatures exceed 18°C, the bank holiday weekend performed a ninth-hour summer holiday miracle.  OK, it’s been 23°C with rapidly chilling evenings, but in the Queen’s English, this means a trip to the beach.  We have had lovely friends staying over the long weekend with their toddler, so our group consisted of a 5 month old baby, two barely potty-trained two-and-a-half-year-olds, two sleep-deprived mums, and two beer-deprived dads.  Basically the group that you DON’T want to be sat next to on the beach.  Our day went something like this:

Night before: Google weather forecast and decide to just ‘get up and go’ in the morning, affording everyone maximum sand and UV exposure.

7am: Toddler A wakes up.

7.02am: Everyone else is woken up wakes up.

7.30am: Sleepy good mornings, polite enquiries into the quality of each other’s sleep and communal tea-guzzling.

8am: Discussion about plan for the day resulting in reiteration of last night’s plan to make a quick picnic, pack a beach bag, and crack on.

11am: Leave for the beach.

11.15am : Arrive at the car park of the beach that we have chosen in our smug local knowledge of secret spots unknown to tourists and rarely frequented by locals on account of the mammoth scramble short walk from the car park.  Load ourselves up for the trek, with rapidly changing standards of what qualifies as essential beach gear. Make the daring decision to leave the potty in the car.

11.30am: Fully loaded, wake up both toddlers who fell asleep five minutes before we arrived.  Avert meltdowns by shoving an ice cream at each of them – it will give them some energy for the walk; the adults have enough to carry as it is.

11.40am: Toddler A is put on Dad A’s shoulders after insufferable dawdling.

11.45am: Toddler B is put on Dad B’s shoulders after all-consuming jealousy for Toddler A’s mode of transport.

12.30pm: Finally arrive at beach.  Baby is cooing contently in his carrier.  Both mums are sweating heavily and swearing quietly.  Both dads are covered in ice-cream from the shoulders up and have possibly suffered permanent neck damage.  Both toddlers are shrieking with delight from the sugar high at the sight of the beach.

12.35pm: Both Dads head immediately for an hour’s swim a quick dip to refresh themselves after the hike.  Mums pin down squirming toddlers to douse them in sun-cream, bemoaning the fact that they didn’t find time to do this in the three hours it took to leave the house.  Get so focused on making sure that the kids are so lathered up that they take on a shiny beige tinge that all adults completely forget to apply any sun cream to themselves.

1.30pm: Massive regret at the decision to forgo the potty as Toddler A announces that she needs a poo (our tourist-free beach features a distinct lack of toilet facilities).  While the adults discuss how best to handle this, she takes matters into her own hands, squatting to do her business right next to the picnic rug.  Parents B collapse into mirth and make increasingly hilarious unhelpful suggestions while Parents A have a heated discussion about who is responsible for the cleanup.

2pm: Parents B pretend not to notice as Toddler B picks cheese out of sandwich, disregards all bread and fruit, and fills up on crisps.  It’s too sunny for fighting.

2.10pm: Toddler A does another poo.  Parents B find this extremely amusing once again.  Toddler B then announces that she needs a poo too.  Their hilarity subsides rapidly.

2.30pm: Mum B discovers the joys of trying to breastfeed an overtired wriggling baby discreetly on a sandy picnic rug while wearing a swimming costume that she bought before gaining the pregnancy weight. After significant rocking, pacing, cuddling and boob-flashing, she resorts to lying next to him on pile of towels under sun parasol until he feeds himself into oblivion.  Edges away achingly slowly when he is finally asleep.  Takes photo to prove what a chilled beach-babe he is.  Remembers to put boob away.

2.45pm: Parents all take it in turns to diffuse toddler-sized battles over precious gemstones rocks from the beach, and fights over sandcastle demolition (the politics of this are evidently complicated – they appear to be having a great time but will erupt without warning if a particularly special castle is scarified).  Decide it is time to crack open our beers.  Feel decadent as we sip our barely cold Coronas.

2.30pm: Another poo.

3.15pm: All regret the beers as our bladders swell.  Mum B saunters nonchalantly into the FREEZING water trying not to make it obvious that she has only gone waist deep for one reason.  After some outright bullying gentle persuasion from Dad B, she submerges herself and has a minor coronary at the temperature.  After two and a half minutes she exits the water, admittedly feeling refreshed, and probably looking like that Bond girl as she flicks her wet hair back.  The selfie feature on her phone reveals that shivering prawn might be closer to the mark.

4pm: Start to brush sand off toddlers in preparation for the walk back to the car.  Quickly realise that this is futile and just plonk their dresses on over the thick layer of sand. Back on Dads shoulders.  How did this walk become twice as long?

4.45pm:  Finally arrive back at the cars sweating profusely.  All marvel at the fact that the walk back from a beach always seems to be uphill.  It must be a geographical fault.  All agree that a swift pint at the pub would be the ideal way top off a marvellous day and cool our strained sweat glands.

4.50pm: Have three phone conversations in 10 minutes about the fact that both toddlers are crashing hard in their car seats.  Agree to forgo the pub.

5pm: Arrive home and extricate two hot, sticky, overtired demons toddlers from the cars. Both have a complete and utter meltdown.  Settle them on sofa in front of Cbeebies, trying not to think about how sandy they are.  Crack open cold beers all round and feel grateful for toilet facilities.  Start to feel the repercussions of forgetting to put any sun cream on any adult.  All reflect on what a marvellous day has been had, aren’t we clever to make the most of the sun – Autumn will probably start tomorrow.

 

 

Ideas on Slowing Down

I am a do-er.  I like to have several projects on the go, around at least two jobs, maybe an exam looming and definitely a cake in the oven.  The archetypal multi-tasker, can’t-bear-a-wasted-day, irritating over-planner.  There’s no denying that I can get a lot done in a day, and competently cope with many simultaneous tasks.  And getting lots done gives me a buzz, it makes me feel great.  But I also can’t deny the fact that I am somewhat of a rusher (my mum knew this all along).  I didn’t refused to realise this fact until I was quite literally forced to slow down by the arrival of Miss M.

The kind of person who could not sit still to watch a film without a bundle of knitting to make it a productive hour, I was suddenly trapped in an armchair with a cluster-feeding baby who would not sleep anywhere but on my lap, all day, every day.  And I’m really not that great at knitting.  Molly is absolutely, unequivocally, categorically the best thing that ever happened to me, but there honestly is not enough on Netflix to get you through the first few months of breastfeeding.

I found the inactivity really hard, and it took me months to stop fighting it.  I read all the articles about the baby years going by in the flash of an eye; I knew there would be years to perfect the art of French cooking or learn glass-blowing.  And while I agreed with this logic in theory, I struggled to apply it on a day to day basis.  I simply did not have the freedom I was accustomed to, to completely indulge myself in pleasurable activities at leisure, and I resented that any free time I now had was completely consumed in catching up on mundane but necessary things like laundry and personal hygiene.

Fast forward 18 months and I feel like out of the blue I have finally hit some sort of balance; less a conscious plan of action, more of a fortuitous crucible of changing habits, lots of mistakes, and a healthy pinch of self-reflection.  Although having a baby was the catalyst that made me slow down, I think that these ideas could be used by anyone wanting to shift things down a gear.

 

You can say no

It’s the age old saying, you can’t please everyone.  Yet a breakneck pace of life is often at least partially caused by constantly pandering to the needs and demands of others.  I’m not advocating a narcissistic dismissal of friends and family; relationships are important and require time and nurturing.  But really, honestly, You Can’t Please Everyone – and it’s OK to say no once in a while.

This applies to projects or hobbies too – I tend to dream big, and I used to still regularly try to bite off more than I can chew in the garden, in the kitchen, in the sewing basket.  I’m slowly learning to say no to myself and to prioritise; not everyone needs a homemade birthday card, even though I love to make them; now is not an appropriate time of my life to learn the saxophone; it is not necessary to open a microbrewery in the garden this year.

Quality not quantity (stop rushing)

I know I have a tendency to rush projects when the pressure of other commitments weighs heavy.  With leisure time at an all-time low, I am embracing the mantra of ‘less is more’ and trying to have just one or two projects on the side to pick up and put down again as nap time allows. This still allows me to get my creative fix, but by limiting the quantity, I feel less pressure and frustration when Molly is having a clam-baby day, and I am more likely to do a proper job and not rush my self-imposed to-do list when finally I do get an hour to indulge myself.

Something that I never considered before is the impact of rushing relationships.  Life today is lived at super-sonic speed, and sometimes a 20 minute catch up over a cuppa is all that you are going to be able to give, because the kids need picking up, the dog’s been sick, grandma’s set fire to the kitchen again.  But in occasionally slowing down and not trying to squeeze too many people into too short a period of time, you find yourself able to give and receive a better quality of concentration, attention and care, which in turn leads to deeper friendships and happier relationships.

The magic of 100% concentration (wear your boots well)

My grandpa (and probably some famous person) used to say, ‘if a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well’.   This was echoed in the mantra of a wonderful doctor friend who shared with me her method for giving her all to her patients every single day, no matter what was going on in her personal life.  Before she goes to work, she puts on her imaginary ‘doctor boots’; she physically digs her heels in, wiggles her toes, and uses her boots to ensure that she is completely mentally committed to the task ahead.

I have lots of boots, and have found out the hard way that it is very difficult to wear all my boots at the same time.  If I try to wear too many boots at once, I inevitably stumble and trip, scuff my lovely boots and start questioning whether this is actually the right pair of boots for me at all, simply because I have not worn them well.  I change my boots several times a day, but have to try to control my impulses to wear my favourite boots too much or too soon, or to neglect a boring pair of boots that will nonetheless nag the back of my mind.  Wear your boots well, and fairly, and your boots will love you back.

Doing absolutely nothing at least once a day is really, really good for your sanity

Doing nothing is my idea of a tedious, frustrating nightmare, but I gave it a go, for 10 minutes a day, and incredibly, I didn’t implode from sheer ennui.  At the risk of sounding a little bohemian, try just sitting quietly in a comfy chair with a cup of tea and no lists, no electronics, no conversation, and just let yourself be…. its strangely therapeutic.  Honest.